


The Collection

by JayWrites



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen, Gore, Murder, Serial Killers, au!tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites/pseuds/JayWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's collection is nearly complete. He just needs to find the perfect piece. Unfortunately he has so many options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Date

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a very short fic. Each chapter will be told from a different perspective. This one is in second person (reader). Enjoy hopefully!

You sigh as you check your make up in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant. In your nervousness over dinner you managed to spill a glass of wine on both yourself and your date. _Real fucking smooth_ , you mentally lament as you reapply your lip gloss. You’re normally not the nervous type. What’s that old adage? You got nerves of steel. Yet tonight… It seems you can’t do anything without making an ass of yourself. First, there was the head bump on the roof of your date’s car. (You’re still feeling that one.) Then there was the awkward, “You too!” reply when the waiter told you to enjoy your meal. And finally the wine spill. You would climb out the bathroom widow to avoid further embarrassment if it wasn’t so damn high. It’s all your date’s fault! How can you possibly be anything less than an awkward loser around someone so damn fine?

Blind dates were never your thing. They seemed to double the already uncomfortableness of a first date. At least when you’re asked out face to face, you know what to look forward to appearance-wise. On a blind date you could end up with either Prince Charming or a goddamn bullfrog. Not that you’re shallow! Far from it! But, let’s be real for a moment, looks matter. And this guy your friend Courtney fixed you up with is a god in that department.

You were so sure that Quasimodo would come strutting into the restaurant. (A reasonable fear since the last time Courtney fixed you up the guy looked like a direct descendent of Swamp Thing!) Instead, before you stood a six foot-something, dark haired, blue eyed specimen that looked as if he were carved by Michelangelo himself! And, oh dear god, that voice! Deep, velvet accented goodness it was! He said he was from London—good old London town!—and had currently moved for a new job. (To your credit you resisted the urge to blurt out that you had a couple of positions for him.)

The whole dinner you couldn’t stop looking at either his hands or his mouth. His fingers were so long and you just knew that some lucky woman had great stories to tell about them. His mouth moved in such a phenomenal way. Every time he opened his damn mouth you had to clench your thighs tighter together. He didn’t just say words he fucking cooed them. No. He made them sound like sex. Not just any sex. Hot, dirty, “choke me, daddy” type of sex. You weren’t necessarily into that sort of thing but it wouldn’t take much for him to convince you.

Everything was going so well until that damn wine spill! Now here you are trying to save the last of your waning dignity. You mumble a swear as you try to dab out the last of the wine from your blouse with some wet tissue. “Fuck.” Nothing’s working. Great! You look back at your reflection in defeat. “The first nice date in four months and you fuck it up. Good job!” You sigh and shake your head. Maybe all isn’t lost? Maybe Mr. Handsome will understand? Surely a guy that looks like that is used to women losing their cool around him. You check your make up again then give yourself a final pep talk before exiting the bathroom.

You head back to your table and notice that Tom isn’t in his chair. _Oh, I know he didn’t ditch me_ , you think as you nervously glance around the restaurant. You don’t spot him and your heart begins to sink. You were so wrong. All was definitely lost. If only you hadn’t lost your composure! If he knew the real you—the confident, sex goddess you—he wouldn’t have taken the first opportunity to leave.

You slump back in your seat and twirl your pasta with your fork. You should be furious. Never in all your dating years have you been stood up or ditched. It’s a strange feeling to say the least. You don’t like it. You should just storm out of here right now. Save whatever face you have left and just leave. Yet for some reason you remain seated, sadly twirling your meal. (A meal that you just realize you’ll be paying for yourself. Double fuck!) You sigh as you wave down your waitress and ask for the check. You pull out your cell and send a text to Courtney: “Nice face. Great ass. Zero class. Thanks girl.” A few minutes later the waitress brings you the check—thank god you only ordered a small pasta platter. You quickly pay and head for the exit.

The chorus of “Uptown Funk” loudly plays from your cell drawing your attention to it. It’s Courtney. “Hey, girl. Yeah… Yeah he ditched me. No… Well, I made an ass of myself so…” You continue talking and walking to the nearest bus stop (you spent your cab fare on dinner). You barely make it two steps before you run into someone. “Fuck! Watch where you’re—” You stop mid-sentence when you realize it’s your date. “Tom?”

“Hey. You’re leaving?”

“Well… you left so I just figured…”

He laughs. It’s a funny sort of laugh. Like a car failing to turn over. It’s actually pretty cute. “I had to take an important call. Didn’t the waiter tell you?”

“No,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “he didn’t. I could kill him.”

“No, no. It probably slipped his mind.” You agree with a slight nod of your head. The conversation lulls for a moment. The busy city night life provides ample distractions but it doesn’t cover the pervading uneasiness that you have, unfortunately, become all too familiar with. “So,” he finally says as he rocks on his heels, “I’m not quite ready for the evening to be done.”

You smile broadly at the comment. “Neither am I. Damn. I paid for my meal already.”

“It’s fine. I’m not really hungry. I tell you what though… how about I go pay for my dinner then we go out dancing. Sound fun, yes?” How could you say no to that? Besides seeing his moves on the dance floor will act as a nice preview for the bedroom.

You silently pray that he knows how to move his hips as you reply, “Yes!”

“Great! Let me go handle the check.”

You smile as he disappears inside the building. The muffled sound of your name directs your attention back to your phone. “Oh my god, Courtney!” You had forgotten all about her. You apologize and reassure her that the date is actually still in progress and going quite well. “He’s taking me dancing… Uh-huh…. I’m hoping!” Tom gently pressing his hand on the small of your back diverts your attention from the call.

“Ready, love?” You nod and quickly end the call with your friend before allowing Tom to escort you to his car.

Once inside, he lets you fumble with the radio dial until it lands on a station that you’re familiar with. The sounds of Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s “Murder on the Dance Floor” begin to fill the small car. You bob your head as chorus plays. “…You better not kill the groove, DJ! Gonna burn this goddamn house right down,” you screech out. You’re not much of a singer but Tom doesn’t seem to mind too much. In fact, he laughs and join in. His voice is no better than yours but honestly you could care less. It’s his moves you're worried about.

Okay. Maybe not _just_  his moves.

You’re currently also worried about why the surrounding environment doesn’t look at all familiar. “Um,” you say as you try to place any of the landmarks, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news here but, uh, I think you’re lost, Tom.” The smile that once sat so easily on his thin lips begins to fade away. The comfort you had just seconds ago dissipate with it. “Tom?” No answer. He continues to stare straight ahead. “T-Tom,” your voice is shaky now. Again no response.

You try to swallow the building panic in your throat so you can properly access your situation. The charming, debonair man from dinner has become something more. Something deadly. And if you don’t act quickly you’ll end up a missing person. Once those last two words enter your mind your panic turns into full blown fear. _Get out! Get out now!_

You give no cares that you’re currently going sixty down the highway. You’ll gladly sacrifice a few broken bones to avoid your possible fate. (The countless scenarios of what will become of you are too gruesome for you to ponder.) You try to pry open the door but it’s locked. You manually pull out the lock but the door still won’t budge. “Let me out!” Tom’s focus remains deadlocked on the road in front of him. Now you foolishly bang against the window. You heard that in times like these people have been known to get superhuman strength but, alas, you have none. Your repeated poundings against the glass only succeeds in spraining your wrists. “Please,” you beg now, “Let me out! Let me out!”

Tom still refuses to acknowledge you. This is far from the loquacious gentleman at dinner. He treats you as if you’re a fly buzzing about his head. A fly whose wings he can’t wait to pull off. You plead for him to release you again but your cries continue to fall on deaf ears. You grab hold of the steering wheel. The action causes his steely stare to meld into one of surprise. “You bitch,” he barks out. You ignore his insult as you try to force the vehicle off the road. It’s a foolish plan but it’s the only option that you have.

“Behave,” he says as he grabs your sore wrists and pull your hands off the wheel. But you haven’t given up yet. You still have a lot of fight in you. You wrestle with him. He tries to keep his eyes on both the road and you but he can’t. He releases you and returns his focus on the road. “Don’t you dare—” His threat is cut off by your loud screech followed by eight sharp rows of nails to his face. “Aaah! You dumb—” He covers your face with his large hand and tries to push you away from him. You won’t budge. Not as long as he still has you trapped in this car. You continue trying to claw at him but the way he’s forcibly pushing your head back makes it feel as if it’s about to snap.

You move your hands to his and sink your nails into his flesh. “Fuck!” He jerks his hand away from your face. You take the opportunity to bite his hand. It’s a move that you were sure would work in your favor; yet the response it draws from him is eerie. He laughs. That same car-won’t-turn-over laugh that a half hour ago you found adorable. Well, not quite the same. This one is a little darker. Before you know it, he punches you in the face. It’s so strong that it sends you back into the car door. Your face is throbbing in intense pain. Your face muscles feel as if they’re on fire. Soon another hit follows; then another. The fourth and final hit sent you into a world of darkness.

\-----------------

A cacophony of pain hits you as you slowly blink your eyes open. A harsh light beams down into your eyes. Well, eye. You’re certain you opened both but only one seems to be working properly. The other only provides you with a sliver of blurred light. Your functioning eye, however, isn’t much use to you either. You feel it throbbing and you guess that your contact has long dried up. Also, it feels like it’s dislodged in the side of your eye. It’s irritating but it’s nothing compared to the way your entire face feels. A tiny blink is enough to set every nerve on edge. You have never felt this much pain in your life. You just want it all to end.

“Hello, my pretty one,” Tom’s voice sounds as if it’s coming from all around you. You begin to panic once you remember he’s the reason why you’re face is in pain. You try to rise but find yourself unable to do so. You try to lift an arm but a hard leather strap is bound around your wrist. You try to kick but find the same bondage.

“Somebody help me,” you scream at the top of our lungs. Your dry throat causes your voice to creak. “Help me please! Somebody!”

“‘Somebody help,’” Tom mocks with a laugh. “No one can hear you!” He screams this out to further prove that he’s telling the truth.  

Yet there’s still a tiny bit of survivor’s hope in you. “Help me please! Somebody! Help!” Tom grows annoyed with your pleas. You’re no longer amusing him. “Someb—” Cold duct tape silences your screams.

“Much better. It’s nothing personal, love. I just prefer a quiet work space.” He caresses the side of your face with the back of his hand and it causes the pain to flare up. You begin to whimper behind the tape. “Shh… shh, my pretty. It’s okay. Tom’s here. You’re in good hands.”

You suddenly hear him walk away followed by the sound of a couple of drawers opening. His soles tap along the floor; the sound echo throughout the room. The binds on your wrists and ankle start to dig into your flesh as you fight against them anew. You won’t go out so easily. You’ve always been a fighter. There was the time you had a bout with some nasty sickness when you were just a toddler. The doctors said your recovery was nothing short than miraculous! Then there was that time when you were ten and you nearly drowned in your aunt’s pool one summer. Not to mention that horrible car accident at seventeen in which you were the only survivor. You’ve already made Death your bitch three times. Why wouldn’t you go for a fourth? (You were always an overachiever!)

You hear Tom’s low chuckle above you. You continue fighting until you see his blue eyes peer down at you. “You know,” he says with a quick lick of his lips, “what question I absolutely hate? ‘Why?’ It’s such a tiny word that requires such a big explanation. It’s so demanding for such a small word, you know?” He leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Even though there is a layer of tape separating your lips, you can’t help but to recoil. “You’re such a good kisser, darling.” You buck and scream but your binds, of course, make your movements useless.

He walks away from you but return promptly; a creaking sound follows his footsteps. “Where was I? Oh yes! _Why_? I just hate that word. Right now I bet you’re asking a lot of questions and one of them probably starts with why, doesn’t it?” You pay him no mind as you continue to wiggle your wrists.  “‘Why’ was the question my mother asked me when I was six and I smashed her beloved cat Delores’ head in with a hammer. Although, I think I was putting the poor beast out of its misery. Who names a cat Delores? Anyway… ‘Why’ was also the question my therapist asked when I confessed to setting my bedroom on fire when I was ten. ‘Why’ was the question my girlfriend asked when I pulled her fingernails out, one by one, when I was twenty.”

You continue to wiggle your wrists and… maybe it’s that damn survivor’s hope stirring in you again but you’re certain that you felt the straps loosening! Just a little bit more. _Not today, Death_ , you think, _Not today!_

“Why, why, why, why, why?” _Come on! Just a little bit more!_ “Everyone wanted a big answer. A big answer to their little question. But my answer has always been…” _Almost! I’m almost free now!_ “Why not?” Just when you felt the strap fully loosen Tom sinks a sharp instrument into your side. You scream out in pain behind the tape. “Look at you! You clever little minx!” He laughs boisterously. “Did you really think I’d let you go so easily?” You scream again as whatever object he’s using pierces your flesh again before he ties your wrist back down.

The pain feels like you’re being ripped apart. It’s not that sharp pain of a paper cut. It’s not that piercing prod of accidentally stabbing your hand on the tip of a knife. It feels as if a hand is digging into and pulling your flesh from your bones. You find yourself wondering what tool he’s using. Not that it would matter, mind you. It wouldn’t stop the pain. It wouldn’t dry that wetness that’s beginning to pool underneath you. It wouldn’t cease the nauseating lightheadedness you’re feeling.

“When I first saw you,” Tom says very calmly; you hear a clanking noise followed by those squeaky wheels again, “I knew you’d be perfect. You’re the piece I’ve been looking for. I had to come all the way to America to get it but still… You’re so beautiful.” He roughly grabs your face and you yelp out in reflex. “What was that,” he says as he bring an ear to your covered mouth. “Was that a ‘stop’ or a ‘more’?” You continue screaming which only makes him laugh. “She says she wants more, ladies and gentlemen!” He dangles a blade in front of your face. You can make out that it’s a surgeon’s scalpel. That definitely wasn’t what he was using before. This is too precise an instrument. The other felt cruder: a duller tip; jagged edges.

He brings the cold blade across your cheek. You’re crying now. You hope—pray—that your eyes can plead for you. Surely there has to be some smidgen of sympathy in the man! But you’re so wrong. Tom gives zero shits about your wet eyes and your annoying whimpers. If anything they make him want to harm you more. “I was going to be so gentle with you, darling,” he continues to trail the scalpel across your face. “So very, very gentle. Then you had to go get… bitey.” He waves his hand in front of your face. Without the proper aid of your contacts or glasses the image is blurry; but you can still make out little crescent teeth indentions on the little concave between his thumb and index. “I bet you’re a feisty little one in the sack, aren’t you? Such a shame. If I hadn’t already picked you for my collection I would have loved to try you out.” He hunches his shoulders. “Oh well! Nothing I can do about that now!” He kisses your sweating forehead. “You know your eyes are gorgeous! I must have them.”

You shriek behind the tape as he cuts into your swollen eye. He peels off the flesh before digging his finger into your socket and plucking out your eye. There is a reason why professionals use anesthetic. Your body cannot take any more of the pain and you find yourself engulfed in blackness again.

 -----------------

You awake feeling exhausted. You’re praying that everything is a horrible nightmare but deep down you know it isn’t. You open your eye—your _only_ eye—and survey your blurry surrounds. Still nothing but a bright light above you and a white tiled ceiling. You try to listen for him. Breathing, footsteps, a murmur. Anything that will give you information to his whereabouts. You hear nothing. You’re not sure whether you should be thankful for that or not. If he was still here then that means you have plenty more torture to go. If he wasn’t then that means he left you here to die alone and exposed to what- or whoever might come along. These are not preferable options.

You try to move but again it’s no use. Besides, your energy is nearly exhausted. Even if you could get free then what? You wouldn’t be able to run. Plus you have no idea where you are. If he had taken you outside the city limits then you’re pretty much screwed. You’re tempted to give up but that survivor in you fights the urge. She’s the one audibly surveying the surroundings; traffic in the background (close which means that you’re someone near the city); the constant dripping of water (maybe you’re in or near an old building). She’s the one still pulling the straps on your wrist against the edge of the table you’re on in hopes of wearing it down. She’s the one willing to fight until the end. If Death’s coming then that bitch better bring a goddamn army. She won’t be resigned to let it end. Not here. Not like this.

You hear distance footsteps closing in. You work faster now. If you can just get one arm free again! Just one arm! “Well, look who’s finally up.” The sound of Tom’s voice doesn’t deter you from your work. Fight until the end! “Still trying to get free, huh?” He leaned over you so that his face was blocking the blinding light above you. “I like your tenacity. Really I do. It’s admirable. Tell you what,” he walks away from you and you hear those creaking wheels again, “since you want to be free so badly,” you hear a heavy scraping noise, “I’ll help you.”

You ignore the pain shooting thorough your body to look at your wrists. You can see the straps start to give way. Just a few more tugs… But something pauses your movements. Something you see out of the corner of your eye. Something that makes your heart pound so heavily that you can almost feel it throughout your entire body. There in his hand is an axe!

You shout “no” from behind the tape over your mouth but he, of course, cannot hear it. (Not that he would obey if he _could_.) You can’t take your eyes off the way the light is gleaming off the blade as Tom grits his teeth and brings it down over your wrists. The blade is dull and doesn’t cut clean through so he raises and drops it again. Your heart is beating so fast now. You can feel the very life start to drain out of you. You’re dying but not dead.

Tom yanks the tape from your mouth and the shrill scream that had been silenced behind it bounces off the wall. “Yes! Sing for me, my lovely! Sing!”

He tortures you now with vigor. There are countless tools at his command and he means to use them all on you. And he does. A scalpel to the face, a hammer to both knees, as saw for one ankle. Each open wound on your flesh pulls you further and further from life. Soon the pain stops. There’s a strange numbness overtaking you now. Then comes the darkness and finally still quiet.

Death.

She’s been waiting for you for so long. She’s actually quite beautiful considering the hell you just experienced. She kisses your lips and a peculiar warmth radiates through every pore of your body. There’s so much you want to say. To her, to your parents, to countless people. But it’s too late now. You start to cry but she rubs your hand and says in a multitude of voices, “It’s okay. This is not an ending.” You start to question her but before you can you’re suddenly surround by white light. Death smiles at you and kisses you again before gently pushing you towards it.

\-----------------

Tom sat in the café watching Courtney wipe down table after table. He absentmindedly ran his thumb under the tips of his index and middle fingers as he admired the way she tossed her black curls back as she laughed. _Silly little pretty,_ he mused as he took a sip of his latte, _why didn’t she think she’d be on my list too?_


	2. The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a very short fic. Each chapter will be told from a different perspective. This one is in third person. Enjoy hopefully!

Courtney wiped down the table in front of her and threw the towel over her left shoulder. She pulled out her cell and looked at the screen for the fourth time in as many minutes. Still nothing. Her best friend hasn’t spoken to her in a day. That’s the longest they’ve ever gone without speaking. No, wait. The longest was when they were fourteen and had gotten in a fight right before summer break. They spent nearly the whole three months ignoring one another until Courtney’s older brother acted as the peacemaker. Since then, they’ve never gone more than a few hours without speaking let alone a whole twenty-four.

She dialed her friend’s number again yet still got no answer. Worry and fear began to well up in the pit of her stomach. _The girl’s a survivor, Court. Don’t be such a worry wort._ Yet Courtney couldn’t shake that strange feeling that something was amiss. _Maybe I should stop by her place? Just to check up on her._ She looked at her watch. It was a little after one in the afternoon. She wasn’t due for another break until three. Normally she would say to hell with it all but she was already on thin ice with her boss. Also, Courtney really needed this job. The hours were horrible and the pay was shit but it seemed to be the only place willing to hire her. She was always either under- or overqualified for every other position she applied for. At least this one gave her the option to have weekends off so she could spend time with her three-year-old, Aisha.

“Shit,” Courtney mumbled aloud causing a passing patron to gasp. “Sorry, ma’am.” Except she wasn’t. Not in the least. Her concern was solely on the status of her friend and not the sensitivities of some prissy random. Courtney sighed then moved to clear the next table.

Tom adjusted his tie while making his way through the café. He took a seat near one of the corners so that he wouldn’t be immediately noticed. He pulled a notepad from inside the lapel pocket of his suit jacket. He flipped it open and quietly read the list on the top page: lips, teeth, eyes, hands, feet, breasts, hair (black, wavy), skin (dark, soft, blemish lite), tongue. Every item except hands and skin had been checked off. He was so close.

A server walked to him and placed a menu in front of him. “Hello, I’m Jenifer. What can I get you?”

Tom nearly cringed at her voice. It was one of those southern accents. Except it was more… pronounced. Broader. As if she took every word and dipped it in acetone then soaked it up with a cotton ball before tossing them into her large mouth. He wanted to rip her voice box out of her throat and throw it back at her. He wondered how she would react if he did just that. She’d gasp and shriek in that horrible accent of hers no doubt. No. It wouldn’t be worth it to torture himself. “Hello, Jenifer,” he said with a large smile. “I’ll just have tea—Earl Grey with a splash of milk—and those darling chocolate petite fours you all serve. They’re delicious.” She nodded then gave him a polite smile before walking away. As soon as she was out of his presence, the smile dropped from Tom’s face. Now it was time to get to business.

He turned his focus to Courtney. He had spotted her the moment he entered the building. (Thankfully she was too busy to notice him.) He tilted his head slightly to one side as he studied her features. She was attractive in her own way. Though nowhere near as lovely as her dear friend. Her eyes were light brown but too small for her round face. Her ears stuck out in a gaudy fashion—which he assumed is why she hardly wore her hair up. Her black, curly hair was cut shoulder length yet those persistent ears still managed to poke out from behind an errant curl. Her light brown skin was freckled across her chest. She was tall—if she wore heels she would tower over him—but very shapely. Her round hips called the attention of many patrons with every step she took. Yes, even his.

Then there were her hands. Those beautiful, soft, ethereal hands. She played the cello when she was younger and still living with her mother in London. Tom was far from a religious man but whenever she played he swore he saw God. She didn’t play much nowadays due to having lost the love for it at some point in her teenage years. Yet she still kept her old instrument around. When he had come to America the first thing he requested of her was to play him something—anything! After much goading she obliged. She was a little rusty, of course, but he still saw God through her. Her hands were still a gift. It pleased him that she still took such great care of them. Her nails were always well maintained—never too long or short to be rendered useless—but in her adulthood she had come to favor colored polish. They were currently a blinding hot pink. He would have to remedy that.

There was once a time in their youth when he fancied her. Yet he eventually outgrew his desire for her. No. Not outgrew. Shifted. He no longer wanted to be buried between those thick thighs—though he wouldn’t turn down an offer. Instead he wanted her in a more… sacred way. Yes. That’s the word. Sacred. She was chosen—by him—to be a part of something greater than herself. To be a glorious piece in his collection. What greater honor could exist?

Tom sat for an hour watching her wipe down table after table. He took a sip of his tea—his third cup—as he made mental notes about the way she walked, talked, shrug her shoulders. Little details that he had noticed and come to love in their years-long friendship. The way she pressed her lips together as she checked her cell for the umpteenth time, for example, was an act of worry; but the way she shook her hand and darted her eyes around the room was done out of agitation. These little ticks were things that, sadly, could not be collected. Therefore, they had to be appreciated in the moment.

Tom waited another ten minutes before rising and finally making his way towards her. “Courtney? I didn’t know you’d be here!” He said this with a tone of mock surprise.

“Tom? Oh my god! I’ve been calling you!”

“Have you? I haven’t received a message.” This was a lie. He humored the sight of her name flashing across his screen a few times—he’d always hit “ignore”—before growing tired and shutting off his cell.

“Yes! I left you countless messages!”

He pulled out his cell from his pocket. “Well, look at that.” He turned the shut off phone to her. “No wonder I haven’t received any of your calls. My mobile must’ve died. I’m so sorry, dear. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” He listened patiently as she frantically relayed her fears over her missing friend.

“I mean, how was she after your date?”

“She didn’t feel too well. The meal didn’t sit right with her, I’m afraid. So I took her home. I called her but didn’t get a response either. I just assumed she was embarrassed after the entire incident.” The lie came out his mouth with great ease. It was as natural as breathing for him. He could look a troubled friend in the eye and tell her whatever story popped into his mind without the tiniest glimmer of remorse. The key, he had learned, was to speak with such conviction that the listener would doubt themselves before ever doubting him. He bit back a laugh as Courtney nodded in understanding at his lie. See? Conviction. Works every time.

“I’m so…” She paused and swallowed hard as her eyes moved from random objects around her as she mentally weighed her words. Another tick for him to appreciate. “I’m so afraid that… that maybe the worst has happened.”

“No,” he said softly. “Don’t think like that, my dear. She’s probably just sick.” He again restrained himself from breaking into a laughing fit. _Sick. Yes. That’s what we’ll call it. She’s_ terribly _ill._ “How about we search for her together, hmm? Assuage both our worried minds?”

“Yes. Thank you, Tom! You are such a sweetheart. I don’t get off until five. Then I have to pick up Aisha from the sitters. I can drop her off at my father’s. So let’s meet at my place around… seven. Is that good for you?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied with a broad grin that, if she wasn’t in such a fretful state, Courtney would have found unnerving. “Seven is great.”

\------------------

Tom watched as Courtney closed and locked the front door of her apartment then rushed down the stairs. He greeted her as friendly as he possibly could as she entered his car. “Sorry I kept you waiting. My ex-husband called and was intent on making this day worse.” Tom nodded politely but didn’t reply. “I tried calling again but still got no answer,” she spoke now of her missing friend. “Did you try her again?”

“I did,” he lied. “But to no avail, I’m afraid.” After the faux “run in” with her earlier at the café, Tom returned to the deserted building he trespassed on the night before and cleaned up. There were a few squatters who had made the second floor their home. He knew the asbestos would eventually get them but he didn’t have the patience to wait so he smashed their brains in with his hammer. After he properly disposed of the bodies, he returned to his apartment and showered. Then he ate a light dinner—he didn’t want to feel too heavy for tonight’s strenuous activities—and went in search of his final collection piece. He watched her for an hour before making his way back across town to retrieve Courtney.

 _His_ Courtney. His long time friend. His heart. His sacred piece.

 He started the engine and drove off the lot. Courtney drummed her fingers along her jean covered thighs as she watched the passing landscape through the window. That action normally would have annoyed him so much that he’d break the fingers of the offender. But he wouldn’t _dare_ do that to _those_ hands. No. Not those sleek, dexterous digits. He needed them. Besides the irritating fidgeting stopped once she realized they had passed the correct turn.

“Tom, you were supposed to take a left!”

“You know what’s strange? Trust.” His eyes remained on the road as he spoke.

“What the shit are you talking about,” Courtney asked with a furrowed brow. “Look! Take this exit and we can loop around.” He drove past the exit and the following one. It took poor Courtney a moment—her thoughts were still focused on her best friend—before she realized that his actions were intentional. “Tom,” she said cautiously, “you missed both exits.”

“Trust is a weird idea,” he mused as he merged into the right lane. “We’re to always prove ourselves worthy to remain pure in the sight of unworthy people. Don’t you find that odd?”

“Tom… you’re scaring me.” Her voice was shaky; tears had already begun to well up in her eyes.

“Trust is so hard to gain yet so easily removed. For example,” he looked at her now, “before a minute ago, how much did you trust me?” She didn’t respond. Instead she exhaled a few ragged breaths before pulling the handle on the door. It didn’t open. She pulled the lock yet still it wouldn’t budge. She looked back at Tom; her eyes pleaded with him as tears fell down the curve of her cheek. He ignored them. Tears never worked on him. Besides, mercy was not in his nature. “Let’s play a game, shall we,” he said as he returned his eyes to the road. “Twenty questions. If you can guess what happened to your little friend then I’ll let you go. Fair?”

“You… hurt her,” her words came out in whispers.

“You are correct. And on the first try too! I’m so proud of you!”

“Tom, please…”

“‘Tom, please…’” he mocked. He took a right exit that led out of town.

She noticed this and stuttered, “Y-y-you said that if I got it right you’d let me go.”

“I did. See how foolish trust can be?” Courtney tried to roll down the windows but found them locked. She called out for help and beat against the glass. When Tom saw this, his anger incited. “No,” he yelled as he grabbed a wrist. “You must not hurt these hands!” She began to fight him now. She slapped him twice across the face with her right hand as she tried to free her left from his vice-like grasp. “Behave,” he ordered. “Behave or I shall make you!”

She didn’t listen—they never did—and continued to fight him. He released his hold but before she could reattempt to escape he grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed her head against the dash. The action left her temporarily stunned but didn’t discourage the fight within her. She dug her nails—those lovely nails—into his hand but that only caused him to wince in pain. She then elbowed him twice in the chest. He coughed and swore but didn’t yield his hold on her hair. She elbowed him again. This time the action almost made him lose control of the car.

“Enough,” he growled as he tried to navigate back onto the road with his free hand. Yet Courtney still fought him. He usually admired her persistent nature but his patience had long worn thin. He slammed her head into the dash again before hitting it against the window and knocking her out.

\------------------

Courtney awoke with a pulsing headache. “Shit,” she grumbled as he sat up and massaged her temple. She tried to stand but the room still whirled around her so she rested another moment. Once she felt everything become steady, she rose and surveyed her surroundings.

Unfortunately, she was not at home and that meant the earlier incident was not a dream. Her dear friend Tom _had_ attacked her. He also confessed to harming her friend and he had every intention of doing the same to her. She had to get out of there—wherever “there” was. The room was dark except for the distant light of a street lamp pouring in from the large bay window. She looked out it in hopes of identifying the environment but only saw a trash filled yard. A mangy dog stepped into the light and growled at something in the darkness. Another dog appeared and the two quickly went at it. The first dog put up a good fight but the second was stronger and snapped the first’s neck with its mouth.

“Oh, look! You’re awake,” Tom’s voice echoed around her and drew her attention from the scene outside the window. “I was afraid you would be out all night. And where's the fun in that?”

Fear and panic rose in her again and caused her heart to beat double time. The room was too dark to accurately pinpoint where his voice was coming from. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

“Look around you, darling. You’re free to go at any time. You just have to find the exit.”

“You’ll never get away with this you know! They’ll come looking for me. I told my father I was going out with you and when I come up missing you’ll be the first person they’ll suspect!”

Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, Tom hunched his shoulders in indifference. “You’re right. They would. Hmm… I guess that means I must get rid of them too. How old is your daughter now? Three? Four? I think that’s a pretty good age to die, don’t you?”

“You bastard,” she shouted into the darkness. “If you lay a hand on them I’ll—”

“Threats from the dead are shallow and empty.” He laughed and the sound made the tiny hairs on her arm raise. “But I tell you what… How about we pay another game, yes?”

“Go to hell!”

Tom’s dark chuckle echoed throughout the room. “You’re so tenacious. You’ll like this game, love. I’m sure of it. All you have to do… is find the exit before I find you. You find it, you’re free to leave.”

“Bullshit. You’ll keep me hostage just like in the car!”

“No, no. I mean it, my dear. If you can get out before I get to you then I will let you go. Do you trust me?” Of course she didn’t trust him! How could she? But she refused to sit and wait for death. She thought of the sweet, giggling face of her daughter as she took a cautious step forward. “Marco,” Tom called out.

His voice made her jump. Courtney wanted to run back to the lighted area but she resisted the urge. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him win. She took another step forward and mentally cursed as the sound of her soles tapping against the concrete. “Marco,” Tom repeated.

She put her hands out in front of her and felt the air. Each time she didn’t bump or grasp onto anything she mentally said a grateful prayer. She took great care to not make too much noise for fear of giving her position away. “Marco,” the voice sounded closer now. Too close. Sweat beaded her brow as she took two steps to her right.

“Marco,” he was almost singing the word now. The sound of her rapidly beating heart thumped in her ears. Her trepidation made her breathing shaky yet she tried to control it. She placed a hand over her mouth and nose as she continued feeling the air. Still nothing. No Tom or any other surprises.

She took a few more steps to the right and ran into the cool, stoned wall. _Oh thank God_ , she thought as she leaned against it. She could use that to help navigate her way out of this damn room. She blinked away her blurred vision as her eyes tried to adjust to the engulfing darkness. He was close. She could feel it. She continued softly patting along the wall as she made her way to the front of the room. When she reached a corner she nearly cheered loudly. The front wall signified that the exit was near. Her heart rate began to slow to normal at the thought of freedom.

She began to move along the wall again but froze when her foot kicked something causing the room to echo with the noise. “Marco,” Tom said; his voice was low and menacing.

A new panic began to stir within her. She had to be smarter now. Courtney crossed herself and tried to recall the Catholic prayers of her youth—the generic “help me God” wouldn’t be strong enough now—as she made her way across the wall. With every inch she moved, hope and fear tango inside her. Would she get out or would she be stuck playing this “game” forever? Even if she _did_ find the exit would he really let her leave?

To make matters worse, he had gone silent again. He could be anywhere. _No, no, no. Don’t think about that. Just keep going forward. The exit! The exit!_ She pressed forward. Her heart thumped louder and louder with each gentle step. Suddenly she felt a raised hump in the wall. She curiously ran her fingertips up it. It didn’t feel human—no flesh or clothing—but the texture was much different from the cold stone she had become accustomed to. The door jamb! Finally! Freedom was in her grasp! All she had to do was reach out and grab it.

She continued patting along the jamb hoping to find the doorknob. She didn’t find it but what she _did_ find made her go cold. Her palm had landed on something soft and warm. Something not made of the stone or wood materials of the wall and doorframe. Some living, breathing. She had run into Tom.

“Marco,” he whispered before roughly grabbing her by the shoulders. Courtney screamed loudly before being silenced by Tom covering her mouth. “You were supposed to say ‘Polo,’ my pretty one. You don’t play fair.” Before she could react he slammed her head against the wall and knocked her out again.

\------------------

For the second time that evening, Courtney awoke in a strange place. However this room was filled with a bright, nearly blinding light. She tried to move but found herself tied by her ankles and her wrists—which were raised above her head—to a table. She turned her head to one side and cursed aloud as a shooting pain travelled from the back of her head to the front. “Hello, there again,” Tom said as he leaned over her. A large toothy smile sat on his face. “Your head must be killing you. Don’t worry, love. It’ll all be over in a while.”

“You lying bastard! I knew you weren’t going to let me go!”

“And yet you still played the game.”

“You gave me no choice!”

“We all have choices, my dear. Right now you have the choice to shut the fuck up yet you refuse to take it.”

She spat in his face causing him to recoil in disgust. “When I get out of here—”

“You’ll what,” he questioned as he wiped his face clean of her saliva. “I’m very curious, my dear.” He placed his hands on the sides of the table by her head and hovered over her. “ _If_ you get out—and that’s a big, fat if—what are you going to do? Hmm? Are you going to run, Court? Hmm? Is that what you’re going to do? We’re miles away from the nearest city. Now you’re a pretty smart girl so I want you to think,” he rapped his knuckles against one side of her head. “Think! Think about all the wonderful things I could do to you in here, okay? Now think of walking with whatever amount of blood I leave you with back to the city. You won’t even make it to the highway.”

“Fuck you!” She readied to spit at him again but Tom roughly grabbed her face.

“You should think very carefully about your next action. I can kill you quickly or I can do it slowly. It all depends on whatever you do in the next few seconds. Choices, my dear.” He watched her eyes dart around as she considered his words. She was going to die anyway. Might as well do it on her terms right? The second he released his grip on her face, she spat in his again. He only chuckled as he wiped it away. “Predictable.”

She wrestled against her binds as she watched him walk towards a table. “I thought about using maybe a scalpel for this operation,” he said as he lifted the tool in the air, “you know, because it’s so precise. Yet it just doesn’t cut the way I need it to. I doesn’t cut bone, I mean. Then I thought I’d use my saw.” When Courtney saw him lift and inspect the instrument she began fighting against her restraints harder. She kicked and jerked and rocked from side to side. All the commotion made the table tilt with her. “You behave, darling,” Tom warned as he pushed the table of instruments towards her; the wheels creaked with every rotation.

“A saw,” Tom continued his earlier thought, “can do wonders but it’s-it’s not precise. The edges are just too jagged. And precision is key! My collection has to be… perfect. And with these,” he caressed her hands and placed a gentle kiss in a palm—barely missing getting clawed—before continuing, “these glorious hands of yours, my collection will be nearly complete.”

“Tom, listen to me, don’t do this! Don’t! You don’t have—” Her pleas were cut off by hard kiss. She tried to squirm and break it but to no avail. He had her head locked in place by his hands. His face was so firmly pressed against hers that she could hardly breathe. When he finally broke the kiss she inhaled a large gust of air.

“Now where was I? Oh, yes, the saw. It just won’t do. Unless, of course, one has an electric one. I hate to spoil the surprise but…” he lifted the tool and squeezed the trigger eliciting a short, but loud, whirl in the process. “However, seeing as it’s a new toy I’m not quite sure how well it’ll cut through flesh. Let’s test it, shall we?”

“No, no, no! Tom, please! Please!”

“Now this will only hurt a little.” A devilish grin curled on his thin lips. “Do you trust me?” The room filled with the mixture of Courtney’s shrill screams and the ever present buzzing of the saw.

\------------------

Four and a half hours. That’s how long I waited for her to leave that damn class. Two hundred and seventy minutes. Sixteen thousand, two hundred seconds. That’s how long I waited. No. No, if I’m being honest it’s been longer, hasn’t it? Ten years. A fucking decade. Waiting for someone like her. The final piece to fill out my collection. And now I finally found her. And she is  _perfect_.


	3. All My Pretty Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will be told from a different perspective. This one is in first person. Enjoy hopefully!

Hello, dear reader. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve decided to take over the rest of the story from here. I don’t think your beloved author properly captured my mission well. It’s not her fault. Too many flaws. She always omitted the best moments. She cared more about your delicate sensibilities than accurately detailing my story. I just couldn’t stand back and let this travesty continue, you understand. Oh, reader! If you had saw what I did to Courtney! The sounds of the saw cutting against her bones… The screams she bellowed out… Oh my… I’m getting tingles.

Where was I?

Oh yes. The author! If you are concerned about your dear Jay at all, do not be. I assure you she is in very good hands. What’s that? You want to speak to her? No, reader. I’m afraid that’s not possible. She’s currently… tied up at the moment. Ehehe. Besides I want to take you on a trip first. No, no! Do not worry about your precious Jay! As long as she behaves she will be fine. Now, do not make me ask you again—I do hate repeating myself—come with me, reader. We have much to attend to.

Do you hear that sound? That loud, shrill screaming? That’s my final piece. My last perfect part in my collection. Her name is Shauna. Lovely girl. Twenty. Skin the color of onyx. Mostly unblemished. I first saw her a month ago at a grocery store —before I had even ran into Courtney again or wasted a night with her little friend. She was fidgeting with some item on a shelf above her. Now, dear reader, I am not being rhetorical when I say she glowed. Brightly. In brilliant golden hues. I would say that a chorus sung out around her but that is too ornate and clichéd for my taste. (That is more the style of your beloved author.) But I did hear something. A compulsion that sits within me. “She is the  _one_ ,” it said to me. And she was!

I did not take her then though I wanted to. Oh no. No. There were other parts to acquire first. Also, I had not yet found the proper tools to restrain her without ruining that glorious flesh. There would be no marks on that skin until I cut into her.

Oh but the wait! The wait was pure torture. Ehehe. Forgive me. I had to chuckle at that. What was I saying? The wait! She was not yet ready. There were… complications—distractions, if you will—that had to be dealt with first.

She had a boyfriend. I do not know his name and I never cared to learn it. He was no more than an incidental detail. A stray mark on a piece of paper that could easily be wiped out. But my Shauna loved him. Well that just wouldn’t do. To get to her I had to first break him.

It was so easy to do. The boy was nothing more than a gullible imbecile who could be easily distracted by pair of large breasts. I followed him to a club and watched as he danced the night away with some lovely little thing that was  _not_  Shauna. He left his beer unguarded—a luxury, as some of you know, that is not afforded to everyone. This allowed me ample time to douse it with a sedative. Just a tiny drop. It was small enough to make him drowsy. I didn’t need him to sleep. I needed him to be weak enough to control. Within less than an hour he was barely able to stand. His friends attributed his odd behavior to drunkenness and proceeded to take him home. (I followed closed behind, of course.) Once the boy was alone, I picked the lock and easily subdued by tying him to a chair. To his credit, he put up a hell of a fight but I had the upper hand, you see. (All it took to calm him was a sharp knife pointed at his balls.)

It took only two minutes to convince him to call and brutally dump my dear Shauna. See that, beloved reader? See how fickle your so-called love is? If you remember only one thing from me then let it be this: we love no one greater than ourselves. No matter how many times you spit out empty platitudes only  _that_  truth remains.

Anyway, I was so disgusted by that fool’s weakness that I slit his throat. Oh that glorious crimson blood spilled everywhere: the walls, the couch, the carpet. (Jackson Pollock would have been proud!) I would have disposed of him like I’ve done the others but I wanted to make an example of him. I wanted Shauna to see the pathetic fool that she chose as a lover. Dried tears on his cheeks; pants soiled with his piss and shit. I wanted her to look at his corpse with nothing less than pity and shame! Well… that and I didn’t want to waste any more of my energy or resources on him. Reader, you have no idea how time consuming transporting, hacking, carefully burying or burning a body can be!

Shauna was distraught, of course, but this gave me great pleasure. Now, reader, do not think me cruel for this. I assure you I am not. Well, ehehe, maybe I am just a tad bit naughty. I probably should not have taken  _such_  great pleasure in my little pretty one’s misfortune. But her tears gave me such a great joy that I couldn’t resist smiling. Surely you know how that goes? Can you honestly say that you have not at least felt the need to grin when someone you despised received their comeuppance? See how easy it is to find pleasure in the strangest of places?

I feel I should add that I do not hate Shauna or any of the women in my collection. This is not about hate. Or sex—though I know you might think so. Shame on you! This is about a hobby. Plain and simple. Some people collect rocks and trinkets and the like. I collect parts. It is a most dangerous art. I used to collect derelicts, you know, the dregs of society that no one cared went missing. But the excitement in that quickly went cold. You see, I learned that the fun of my pastime was not the collecting itself—though I do enjoy that—but it’s the people left behind. The parents, siblings, lovers and friends who mourn for them. It’s an added reward. Knowing that I caused their pain is almost better than the torture. Almost.

Don’t you  _dare_  stop reading now! You’ve already come so far. You wanted reasons and excuses—admit it!—and you can’t leave once you’ve got them. Besides, I am not done with my story.

Where was I? Oh, yes… Shauna. My lovely little dear. Stop whining! Sorry. Is that crying annoying you, too? Here. Let me gag my dear conquest and we shall continue. There. Better?

Now… Shauna blamed herself for her dull lover’s demise. (Rightfully so, I think.) So she sought counseling at one of the local centers. I know this because I watched my perfect piece very carefully. Videos, traces on her car and phone, watching her with binoculars through dark tinted windows—nothing beats a classic! I sat in the back of the weekly meetings and listened intently as she described the pain of losing a loved one and blah, blah, blah. Honestly it gets so boring after a while. Too many sob stories. When I finally decided the time was right—when her guard was lowered just enough—I made my move. Ehehe. Look at me! I guess I  _do_  prefer clichés after all.

I had to wait for her all damn day. First it was that damn class schedule. It’s Tuesday so she has biology, English, and French. (She’s horrible at the language, you know. Those guttural “R”s are so damn hard for her.) I waited patiently for four and a half hours. Two hundred and seventy minutes. Sixteen thousand, two hundred seconds. But I don’t mind. It’s a breeze compared to the decade it took to even find her. Then after her class she drove straight across town to her meeting.

Before the meeting began I made sure to flatten one tire on her car. If you don’t mind, may I pause? The author’s starting to annoy me again. Pardon me. There! Much better! She won’t bother us for a while. Now where was I? I swear, dear reader, my thoughts aren’t usually this muddled. I am just so excited! I’ve waited so long for this day to come and now it’s finally here and I can barely focus. Perhaps I should save you the bother and skip forward. You’re not really concerned with  _how_  I procured this dainty morsel before me, are you? No. You’re wondering what I’m going to  _do_  with her, yes?

Let me tell you that, at first, I debated on how to do it. Remove her skin, I mean. Should I take just a few pieces or the whole thing? I skinned a cat once when I was a child. It wasn’t hard at all. Surely a human wouldn’t be much different! The size would be a problem though. She’s much larger than a cat, of course, but barely five feet tall. I’ve practiced on a squatter who was taller than I and it took me a little over an hour. I can do this. Oh, but where would I put that much skin? You see, faithful reader, I keep my items in large pickling jars in my apartment. And a full human skin wouldn’t fit in just one jar. No matter how well I folded it. Oh, reader, are you all right? Did I upset you? Ehehehe. Just wait. The fun has yet to begin.

I think I’ll save just a small part. If I were creative I would make accessories of it so that I could always have it near. Just think! A wallet made of human flesh! Oh, listen! She’s whimpering again! Stop whining! I said  _if_! She’s starting to annoy me now. Perhaps we should begin, yes?

Now, I hope, oh patient reader, that you did not think that you would only observe. No. This is a big task and I require help. No! Do not move! Stop! There is nowhere to go now. I need you to hold her legs. Stop crying! You started this journey now you must complete it! Grab her goddamn legs! Good. Good. Now cuff her and lock them tight. Be careful! Her beautiful flesh! That’s it. Much better. You’re a natural at this! Now you see that chain? Help me pull it. Please, don’t ask me questions! You know how that upsets me! Just do as I say. This will go much quicker if you do. Now pull.

See how much easier this is with two people? Just a little more until she’s fully lifted off the ground. That’s better. Now quickly loop the chain around that pole. Make sure it’s tight now! I don’t want her to slip and crack that beautiful skull. Not yet.

Ah… Look at her, reader! Isn’t she lovely? Don’t turn your head! The naked form is the most beautiful sight to behold! Here, touch her skin. Touch it! See how soft? And so few blemishes. It’s almost as if she didn’t live a life at all. Even I have some old bruises caused by childish wonderment adorning my skin. But she! Pristine as marble. Who molded you, my lovely? Which artist sculpted you from the finest stone and set you before me? Take a moment, reader. Enjoy her beauty! Do not cover your eyes! Look at her now. Like this. For I assure you it will get much more gruesome.

Now… hand me the scalpel. Carefully, love. No funny business. I would hate to cut our time short due to your misplaced heroism. Good. I realize you are new to this but try not to faint. Come. Look how smoothly this instrument cuts this flesh! See how quick and precise? No, no. It’s only blood, my dear. Hold her. Hold her! If she moves again this will all be ruined! Hold her I say! Thank you.

Here let’s remove the gag now. Ahh… Do you hear that? That beautiful scream! Bask in it now because in a few minutes it will unnerve you. Ehehehe. Forgive me. You already are unnerved, aren’t you? Look! Do you see the tissue? Lovely isn’t it? Please do not faint. You know what will help you? Here. Take the scalpel. Do not argue with me, reader! Take it I said! Good. Now continue down this way. Straight down. Oh dear, your hand’s trembling! Just breathe. In and out. In and out. Good. Now steady now. Steady… steady… Doesn’t this feel right? Admit it. You love this as much as I do.

Stop screaming, Shauna! I know, reader, I know! It’s a ridiculous request but the noise is doing my head in. Now move right. Here. Watch me. Like so. Your turn, love. Breathe. In. Out. Now slowly across. Keep the navel intact. I want to know which part we cut this from. Stop squirming, Shauna! You’re making it worse on yourself, darling. Now, reader, back down again. That’s it. That’s it. A little more. Stop! I want to cut the final piece. It is  _my_  collection after all.

Here, Shauna. Take this kiss, my sweet angel. One last moment of gentleness and warmth before death comes. You should kiss her, too, reader. Yes you! Feel the last breath. Do it! Do it. Aren’t her lips soft? Her breath sweet and warm? Don’t stop! I want you to feel what I felt the first time a lover’s life drained from her. That’s what you two are now. There is nothing more intimate than this. We are now all closer than ever before. What we have now is deeper than just this flesh before us.

Here. Take a moment to touch her. Yes inside. Feel the velvet of her muscles. Oh, yes… Nothing is better this, no? Keep kissing her as I make this last cut back across here. There! The last piece is collected! Did you feel it, precious reader? That soft exhale of life. Oh, tell me it made you quiver with newfound excitement! Tell me you feel more alive now that you’ve ever had! Tell me you have been infused with a power that you’ve never known before! Say it! Say it now, reader!

Ehehehehe. 

Would you like to continue? Good. We are far from done. Don’t worry about Shauna. I’ll clean her up later. But first let’s deal with our author. Hello, Jay. You thought I forgot about you, didn’t you? Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll take good care of you. Reader, help me get her onto the table. Stop it, Jay! Stop fighting! You knew this was coming! Hold her down! The straps, reader! Grab the straps! Jay, please stop crying. You know I hate the sound of it. Shh… shh…

Apprentice! Yes, reader that’s you! What other name should I give you than that? Ehe. Grab that knife from the table. No, the big one. Yes, that’s it. No. No scalpel. Those are for clean jobs. She doesn’t deserve that. Hmm… but she doesn’t deserve to go quickly either. Apprentice, fetch me the hammer. Jay, please stop whimpering. We haven’t even begun yet. There is so much pain coming your way. Pain that you deserve.

Apprentice, the knees! Not too much! You don’t want to exhaust yourself so soon! What are you waiting for? Hit them! Yes! Listen to the screams! Hit them again! The right one! Yes! Do you feel that, my dear? Shall we go for more? How about those curséd hands! On the knuckles! Yes! Do you hear that! Oh, the echo is so melodic! Scream on, my dear! Scream on! Now the other one! Excellent! Excellent!

Oh, dear. It seems she has passed out. Can’t have that. Wake up, Jay. No, you are not dreaming. This nightmare is very real. Apprentice, the knife, please. Shh, Jay, shh. Jay, please… If you do not stop crying I will get the hammer again. There are still so many parts that could be smashed. You wanted this darling. Yes, you did. You will be the start of my new collection. Come, apprentice. Kiss her lips. One last taste of life. Goodbye, sweet author. Apprentice, the stomach now. Again! Yes. Once more, love! Shh, Jay. I know, darling. I know.

That is done. One collection is completed and a new one has begun.

Dear apprentice, can you hand me that scalpel, please? Thank you. Now this will only hurt a little bit, my pretty one. Oh, my little darling… Surely, you didn’t think I would spare you as well? Ehehe. Oh, love. You are too wise for such naïveté. Please do not cry. You must’ve known it would end like this! Come, now, love. Give us a kiss.


End file.
